


Turtlenecks for TS

by birdoflastsummer



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Attack of the 90s?, Early Season 4 filming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdoflastsummer/pseuds/birdoflastsummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen can’t bring himself to ask about Misha’s clothing. Surely he gets made fun of enough, right? He doesn’t need Jensen to point and laugh at him too. So Jensen doesn’t bring it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turtlenecks for TS

Jensen hangs his head the second he sees Misha step out of his car. He swears Misha is intentionally testing the foundations of their tentative friendship. He’s wearing a thick wool beige turtleneck that he’s practically drowning in, ill-fitting black slacks and flip-flops.

Jared’s uproarious laughter can be heard from across the lot, but Jensen just shakes his head as he approaches and takes in Misha’s outfit. Misha’s only been on set for a couple months, but he seems to take every contract extension as a personal challenge to find a more hideous, outrageous sweater.

“This is a lot to process at 7 a.m., man,” Jensen says once he’s in front of Misha.

Misha just beams at him.

“Do you like it?” Misha asks, lifting his arms up for inspection. Jensen doesn’t bite.

“I think you should go to wardrobe before Jared has a stroke.”

Misha heads off in the direction of his trailer before another long day of filming starts and Jensen watches him go, wondering what the guy even looks like in normal clothing.

“Does Misha think we’ll forget who he is if he doesn’t show up in an ugly outfit?” Jared asks. Jensen turns and shrugs at him.

The next day, Jensen’s in his trailer reading over the script for On The Head of a Pin when he hears a knock on the door. He swings open the door and has to consciously focus on not slipping down the stairs.

Misha is innocently standing outside, rocking back on his heels and waiting for Jensen to invite him up. But Jensen is stuck. Misha is wearing some kind of weird, striped, sleeveless sweater vest? The vest colors are all neutral toned and he’s paired it with light brown jeans and thick-strapped leather sandals.

Jensen blinks slowly.

“Hey, you ok?” Misha asks. Jensen thinks there’s a knowing smile on his face, but he really can’t tell.

“Yep,” Jensen says, shaking his head a little.

“It’s a little cold, Jensen. Can I come in?” Misha asks, eyebrows raised. Then Misha’s arms wrap around himself, one crossing up to his shoulder and the other across his waist.

Jensen can’t help but think about how long Misha’s arms are. They’re not bulky, but they’re toned. They’re nice. 

“Come in,” Jensen says loudly, opening the door further and shielding himself behind the door for a second to compose himself.

Once Misha is in conversation flows as usual, and Jensen can’t bring himself to ask about Misha’s clothing. Surely he gets made fun of enough, right? He doesn’t need Jensen to point and laugh at him too.

So Jensen doesn’t bring it up. For  _months_ Misha shows up in ridiculous outfits, including one time looking like a Boy Scout, one time showing up in a Beetlejuice suit and another time in a blue Hawaiian shirt and black undershirt.

Jensen hopes the small smile Misha always gives him whenever he recovers from the shock of a new outfit is Misha silently being thankful that Jensen is a good friend who doesn’t judge him for his weird taste in clothing. That it’s just Misha acknowledging what a good friend Jensen is. Yeah.

And Jensen  _is_ a good friend. He’s coming to appreciate a lot about Misha. Like that time he wore this bright red golf shirt tucked into and high-waisted shorts, which ended uncomfortably far above Misha’s knees. Jensen appreciated Misha’s incredibly toned legs for days.

Jensen has an early shoot one day filming The Rapture and missed whatever outfit Misha wore to set that morning. Not that it even occurred to Jensen that he’d missed it. He’s just realizing it while contemplating how bulky Cas’ many layers are during filming later in the day.

“Hey, it’s Tuesday,” Misha whispers to Jensen while the crew makes final preparations for the scene they’re shooting.

“Hm?” Jensen asks, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

“Tuesday,” Misha repeats, staring at Jensen with Cas-like intensity. “We still on?”

And if Jensen gets a little rush of excited relief at the realization that he  _will_ get to see whatever stupid outfit Misha’s thrown together today because Tuesday is their night to go to a local bar and watch sports, then it doesn’t matter.

“We’re on,” Jensen grins.

A few hours later Jensen runs to his trailer to grab his wallet and cell phone before finding Misha and heading to the bar. He gets distracted answering the texts he’s missed and there’s a knock on the door.

“Jensen?” Misha’s voice calls.

“Here, coming,” Jensen calls back, finishing up the last text and shoving it in his pocket as he walks to the door.

He doesn’t process it when he opens the door. Jensen still hasn’t really processed it as his foot takes its first bold step into air and space, searching on autopilot for the first stair out of the trailer, like he’s done 10,000 times before. But then Jensen does see it. And a few things happen at once.

Jensen realizes that Misha is wearing a skin-tight black shirt with the Superman logo plastered on the front. Its sleeves barely curl over the corners of Misha’s broad shoulders, leaving his crossed arms completely bare.  Then Jensen realizes that the t-shirt promptly ends way before it meets the top of Misha’s pants, leaving a solid few inches of honest-to-god, tan, soft-looking midriff on display. As if to highlight the region, the excess of Misha’s belt hangs next to the buckle lewdly.

So who can really blame Jensen for missing the step?

“Oh — fuck!”

Jensen stumbles spectacularly out of his trailer, all limbs flailing for a moment while his brain splutters to a complete and utter halt. Then he falls into something very sturdy and warm that is pulling at him to get him straightened. Misha.

“Hey, hey, you ok?” Misha asks urgently, still grasping tightly to Jensen. Jensen might be clutching back but only because he had a  _near death experience._

“Yeah, oof, yeah,” Jensen mumbles, tearing himself away from the expanse of tan arms that are suddenly, totally everywhere.

Jensen gets his legs under him and takes a long moment before looking back up at Misha.

_What the fuck are you wearing what the fuck are you wearing what the fuck are you wearing do you have any idea what you are doing?_

“Thanks,” Jensen gasps.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Misha says with a wink.

Jensen takes what he’s pretty sure is a totally smooth, unnoticeable full-body scan of Misha again. Just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. But apparently it wasn’t a hallucination, and if Misha’s self-satisfied smirk is anything to go on, Jensen wasn’t as smooth as he wanted to be. Whatever. He almost just  _died._

They walk to Misha’s car and clamor in before Jensen speaks again.

“You’re gonna be cold,” Jensen informs him gruffly.

Misha grins mischievously and reaches around Jensen to grab the pea coat in the backseat.

“Shouldn’t be standing outside without sleeves, you’re gonna get a cold,” Jensen grumbles with a pout, and Misha doesn’t stop grinning the entire drive to the bar.

Jensen gets drunk like it’s his job that night. Misha matches him shot-for-shot, a challenging spark in his eye whenever he looks at Jensen. But at a certain point Jensen loses track of that because Misha complains about being hot and takes off his coat and the midriff and arms are back.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Jensen groans into his shot glass. 

“You did it first,” Misha replies too quickly.

“You—” Jensen points at Misha, “you are a bad person. A – a not nice person.”

Misha beams at Jensen and takes Jensen’s phone out of his pocket to call Cliff to give them a ride from the bar.

Everything’s a little fuzzy to Jensen the next day, but he has a feeling that it’s for the best. He’s walking from wardrobe to set, lost in his own thoughts, when he sees Misha’s familiar car pull onto set. He sees Misha’s familiar mop of brown hair and familiar sharp features through the tint of his driver-side window. Then Misha opens the door and Jensen sees a pair of familiar pants.

Brick pants.

Jensen stops in his tracks.

Months of Misha’s outfits rush back at Jensen. The Boy Scout uniform. The hideous turtle necks. The short shorts. The Superman t-shirt. All of them are outfits Jensen wore during his modeling days. All of which pale in comparison to the  _brick pants._

If it were humanly possible he’d have that photo-shoot deleted off the Internet. But here Misha is, striding up to him confidently.

“Hi Jensen,” he says.

Jensen stares.

“How are you feeling today?” Misha asks conversationally. “You hungover?”

Jensen’s head jerks to the side.

“You remember when I told you that you were trying to kill me first?” Misha asks. Jensen’s face scrunches up, a distant memory coming back to him. “I’ve been haunted by your stupid face half my life in catalogs. These?” Misha gestures down to his pants. “These take the cake though.”

Jensen grabs Misha and they head back to Jensen’s trailer and are so, so late to set.

**Author's Note:**

> rebloggable version [here](http://casthegrumpy.tumblr.com/post/135737917179/15k-of-some-early-cockles-turtlenecks-for-ts)


End file.
